


Gods of the Good Shit

by dirtbag



Category: Dorohedoro
Genre: Blow Jobs, Facials, Frottage, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Stoned Sex, friends to ???, tfw you never stop pining for your best friend even in the middle of having sex with him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:54:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28445739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtbag/pseuds/dirtbag
Summary: Risu thinks they’d probably look like complete assholes to an outside viewer, two idiots baked out of their minds just sitting there close enough for their noses to touch.
Relationships: Aikawa/Risu (Dorohedoro)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 102





	Gods of the Good Shit

**Author's Note:**

> got a couple airisu requests so heres some more airisu!! one anon in particular asked for either first time fic or fic of them smoking together and i loved both those ideas so much that i smashed them together into this (‘: title is from [this song!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=78WIuce_bIc) also thank you to leah for looking over this for me and encouraging me every step of the way to make it as horny as possible

Aikawa shows Risu the bag during a night out with Mizuno and a couple of other guys from school. They’re on their way from one bar to another, walking side-by-side while the other guys laugh together up ahead and Mizuno lags behind to piss in the gutter. It’s kinda peaceful after the chaos of the bar, just walking along in the mild night air and watching bugs flutter around the street lamps, lit up like little motes of dust. 

“Hey,” Aikawa says, “check it out.” Risu glances over at him. His mask dangles from his belt loop, cheeks flushed from drinking. He’s holding something in his hand: a small clear bag of what looks like plant matter. Risu takes it from Aikawa’s hand for inspection, and sure enough when he looks closer he can see dark grains of smoke mixed in. 

“Did some odd jobs for a guy with herb magic,” Aikawa says when Risu looks back up at him, clearly pleased with himself. 

Risu laughs, shaking his head. He’s only done this stuff once before, courtesy of a senior Crosseyes member who’s wild about it, but his memories of how chilled-out and hungry it made him line up with what he’s come to understand as Aikawa’s idea of a good time. “Cool.” He hands it back, glancing back to see whether Mizuno’s caught up yet. “I think my place is closest, let’s tell the others—”

Aikawa grins and slips the bag into his pocket, slinging an arm around Risu’s shoulders. “Hell no,” he says, starting to walk again. “Don’t wanna share with them. I’ll come to your place some time next week, we can do it then.”

Risu ducks his head as his face heats up with happiness that has nothing to do with the weed. “Sounds good,” he says in as normal a voice as he can manage, hoping Aikawa won’t see through him completely and tell him not to read too much into it. 

Instead, Mizuno jogs up from behind them and loops an arm around each of their necks, and Risu gets too distracted trying to avoid his piss hands to think much more about it. By the time that ordeal is over, they’ve reached the next bar, and the exchange is more or less forgotten for the rest of the night.

— — —

A few days later, Risu is coughing deeply with a little pipe made of dark glass clutched in one hand, trying not to dump weed all over his bed while Aikawa laughs at him.

“Shut up,” Risu wheezes, reaching for the water bottle he’d brought in for this exact purpose. When he can breathe again, he lifts the pipe and gropes around next to him for the lighter Aikawa had produced along with it, a flimsy little cheap one with a pattern of grinning skulls printed on the side. Risu tries to be careful as he holds its stubby blue-centered flame up to the edge of the bowl. 

The next hit is easier—he still coughs, but not too hard. Aikawa nods at him approvingly as Risu passes the bowl and lighter down to where he’s sitting, on the floor with his back against the side of Risu’s bed. 

Risu fidgets with the water bottle, biting its plastic cap absently as he watches Aikawa take his thumb off the carb and inhale. His broad chest expands, then relaxes again, muscles going loose when he expels all the smoke in one slow breath. He doesn’t cough at all, the bastard, just leans his head back against the side of Risu’s mattress and smiles. His eyes are half-closed, just starting to get bloodshot. 

Risu packs another bowl for them after that, pulling the buds apart with his fingers and carefully filling the bowl with each tiny ripped-off piece. The smell of it clings to his hands as they pass the pipe back and forth between them, until the second bowl is gone and Risu feels well and truly baked.

Once Risu takes his last hit, he turns toward Aikawa, who’s been idly balancing one of his knives across the flat of his knuckles. The smoke hovers in the air for a moment, turning him hazy around the edges until it dissipates. The room is getting humid with it, sunlight crawling across the floor in strips and baking against the glass of the closed window. Risu’s tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth for a second when he tries to speak, and the sensation is so gross that he coughs and rolls over for the water bottle and forgets what he was even going to say. 

Aikawa tilts his head up to look at him, then, his eyelashes catching the sunlight and stopping Risu’s heart for a second. He narrowly manages to avoid choking on the lukewarm water he’d been gulping. 

“This stuff’s not bad,” Aikawa says, seeming oblivious to the minor crisis Risu is having at the moment. 

“Yeah,” Risu agrees, once his brain catches up enough for him to respond. He’s warm, from the sun and from sitting in his bed and from Aikawa, somehow, even though they aren’t touching. Risu thinks it’s bullshit that they aren’t. The more he thinks about it, the more bullshit it becomes.

“You’re spaced out,” Aikawa accuses, setting down the knife and sitting up straight, stretching his arms out over his head. 

The stretch is a slow, lazy movement, one that lifts the hem of his shirt enough to reveal the dark trail of hair that disappears into his pants. Risu is dimly aware that he’s chewing the water bottle again, hard enough that the plastic dents under his teeth. He can’t help wanting to devour every inch of Aikawa that he can get his eyes on; the soft-looking skin below his navel, the straining curves of his triceps, the fading tan lines from a job he’d helped Risu with a few weeks ago. They’d been outside for hours, offloading a shipment of powder under the blazing sun. This moment feels like a distillation of that entire afternoon, like a shot of something that burns, tossed back all at once. He’s so engrossed that it takes him a second to notice Aikawa staring back at him. 

When he does notice, Risu freezes, even though every instinct in his body is screaming at him to jump out the window and start a new life somewhere far away from here. There’s absolutely no way Aikawa hadn’t noticed what he was doing, but for a brief moment Risu holds onto the hope that he won’t acknowledge it, that they can both just ignore it and move on without incident. 

That fantasy gets shattered pretty quickly when Aikawa shifts to face him head-on. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t stop staring, either, eyes flicking up and down Risu’s body in a shameless once-over that Risu can’t even object to given what he’s just been caught doing. He fights the urge to dive under his blankets, hiding away from Aikawa’s scrutiny. 

It’s not like Risu’s ugly—if nothing else, his hair always looks cool—more that he has no idea whether or not any part of him appeals to Aikawa specifically. Sometimes it’s hard to tell what Aikawa thinks of him at all. Now is definitely one of those times, even when Aikawa grins at him slowly, propping up his elbows on the mattress. 

“Wh-what? What? Why are you making that face?” Even if they were sober, Risu doesn’t think he’d be able to handle any of this for much longer. It’s making his heart hurt, or something, making his stomach twist itself in knots and his mouth even drier. 

Aikawa just shrugs. Then he stands up all the way and climbs onto the bed with Risu, even though it’s a small bed and Risu fills up a good portion of it on his own. They have to fold themselves up awkwardly to fit on the mattress, so close that their knees touch. Once they finally get adjusted, Aikawa leans in even closer. He smells like smoke. “C’mere.”

Risu sways forward without meaning to, studying Aikawa through eyes that feel heavier every second. It’s definitely the weed that’s making Aikawa’s face this interesting to look at. Risu would definitely not spend this much time staring at Aikawa’s mouth if he was sober. Almost certainly. 

“Risu,” Aikawa’s mouth says, in the middle of Risu staring at it. With some difficulty, Risu tears his eyes away. Aikawa pauses like he’s trying to figure out the right way to put a complicated thought into words. Risu waits patiently for a few more seconds, until he seems to settle on something. “Do you wanna make out?”

At first, Risu is too stunned to speak. He just looks back at Aikawa without saying anything, face on fire and hands twisted up uselessly in the fabric of his comforter. Only when Aikawa’s smile flags a bit does Risu manage to convince himself to speak. “Yeah,” he rasps out, voice hardly more than a whisper, partly from embarrassment and partly from dry mouth. “One second.” 

Risu pops off the water bottle’s mangled cap, drains the last of it, and then leans in close before he can psych himself out. The weed makes him feel small in his head, like a ghost trapped inside his own brain, desperately hoping he doesn’t embarrass himself. If Aikawa is experiencing anything like that, it doesn’t show on his face; all Risu can pick up from him is that he seems a bit slower-moving than usual. 

Their mouths are so close together now that there’s no way to pass this off as anything other than what it’s about to be. Risu’s vision is full of Aikawa, and he’s rooted to the spot by his desire to catalog every detail of him, his sideburns and the patches of stubble on his jaw, the faint dark circles under his eyes. Has he been sleeping enough lately? Risu shakes his head a little, reminds himself to stay on track. 

He thinks they’d probably look like complete assholes to an outside viewer, two idiots baked out of their minds just sitting there close enough for their noses to touch. It doesn’t stop him from lifting a hand to Aikawa’s face, palm fitting against his cheek so that his thumb rests underneath Aikawa’s eye. His skin is warm, stubble rough against Risu’s palm when he moves it down to cup Aikawa’s jaw. 

Touching him seems to jump-start something in Risu’s heart that was lying dormant there before this, like he’ll die if they don’t start making out right now. Or maybe like he’s already dead, down in hell, and this whole thing is some devil-induced fever dream. Either way, it becomes very simple to lean forward and close the rest of the distance between them. 

Their mouths collide unevenly, noses bumping against each other until they figure out how to slot them together. Every sensation feels both amplified and indistinct, so that Risu has no idea whether he’s doing too much or not enough and can’t seem to care much either way. The kiss gets deeper when he tilts his head into it, pressing hard against Aikawa, mouthing at the shape of his full bottom lip until Aikawa fits a hand over the back of his neck and uses it to pull him even closer. When he needs to breathe, Aikawa always backs off just long enough, until it starts to feel like they could keep going forever. 

Aikawa’s free hand rests on Risu’s knee, and when he spreads his fingers out and squeezes, Risu feels it through his whole body. His breath catches and Aikawa squeezes again in response, hand sliding up until his fingers press into the muscle of Risu’s thigh through the soft fabric of the sleeping pants he’d never bothered to change out of when he got up this morning. Risu’s hands move from Aikawa’s jaw to his hair to his shoulders, gripping tight to the fabric of his shirt, pressing his teeth against the spit-slick curve of Aikawa’s lip. 

Even right after it happens Risu isn’t sure which of them moves first—time behaves strangely like this, but Risu doesn’t mind that much when the result is Aikawa sprawled out underneath him on the bed, looking up at him with a semi-dazed expression that finally reveals at least some small portion of what he must be feeling. His dark hair sticks up where Risu put his hands in it, his eyes heavy-lidded and locked on Risu’s face. The steadiness of his gaze sends a shot of anxiety through Risu, nervous longing combined with the sense that this is all way too good to be true. 

Aikawa pulls him down again before he can get too much further into his head, and this time when they kiss his tongue is in Risu’s mouth. He licks blindly at the soft inside of Risu’s cheek, finds Risu’s tongue and strokes it with his own in a way that feels so purposeful and intimate that Risu is almost concerned by the strength of his body’s response. He makes a choked-off sound, fingers tightening on Aikawa’s shoulders. 

Aikawa does it again, and again, and Risu is glad they’re lying down because he’s sure that his knees would be jelly if they weren’t. He’s hardly aware of the restless way he’s been shifting around until Aikawa breathes out quietly and moves with him, rolling their hips together in a clumsy grind. 

Risu’s been steadily creeping his way toward getting hard ever since Aikawa first leaned into his space. He’s almost all the way there at this point, and it’s clear now that Aikawa isn’t far behind. The thought of that sends a thrill through Risu’s whole body—the idea that Aikawa could be as turned on by this as he is, that he could want Risu as badly as Risu wants him. 

This time he’s the one who leans in for a kiss, careless in his excitement as he pulls Aikawa’s tongue into his mouth and sucks it. Aikawa’s hands are all over him, stroking through his hair, reaching underneath the hem of his t-shirt to run a flat palm down his back, grabbing a handful of his ass and using it to hold Risu down as they rock against each other. Aikawa laughs quietly against Risu’s mouth when that makes him jerk in surprise, his free hand sliding up Risu’s back again and across the width of his shoulders.

“This okay?” Aikawa mumbles, barely audible, then drops a kiss on Risu’s jaw when he pushes his face into Aikawa’s shoulder and nods. He bites high up on Risu’s neck and then strokes his tongue over the place he’d bitten, still using his grip on Risu’s ass to grind their erections tighter together, until Risu is practically writhing in his arms. He can’t think straight, can’t think of anything but the weight and warmth of Aikawa’s hands, the slow-burning pressure of his clothed dick pushed up against Risu’s. 

That’s why it’s so difficult to let it happen when Aikawa tries to pull back. At first, Risu simply doesn’t allow it, reeling him back in for another kiss right away. It takes another two tries before Aikawa manages to put a few inches of distance between them. “Hey,” he says, hand sliding up over the curve of Risu’s ass to rest flat against the small of his back. “Hey, you listening? Want me to jerk you off?” 

Risu, who up to that point had not been listening, instantly feels his face get hot. “Uh,” he stammers, tongue tripping over itself before he thinks of anything to say. He wants that so bad it’s embarrassing, but he also doesn’t want Aikawa to know how bad he wants it, even though that’s probably a lost cause at that point. “I—yeah. Yeah.”

Aikawa sits up with his back against the headboard and pulls Risu backward in between his spread legs. They’re both bulky enough that the position should probably be awkward, but something about it is nice. Risu misses the friction, but like this, he can feel Aikawa’s hard-on pushed up against the small of his back, which is interesting in its own way. 

Aikawa wraps his arm around Risu from behind, bicep pressed up against the side of Risu’s chest, hand resting on his stomach. Risu is so focused on the way Aikawa radiates heat through the fabric of his shirt that the first brush of Aikawa’s mouth against the side of his neck almost makes him jump out of his skin. 

Aikawa kisses Risu there for a while, finding a spot under his ear that feels way too good and trapping the skin between his teeth until Risu’s breathing speeds up. He shifts in Aikawa’s arms, impatient, and then Aikawa’s hand starts to move on his stomach. 

At first, he just pushes Risu’s shirt up, letting his hand rest for a moment against Risu’s bare skin. It’s even warmer like this; even more so when Aikawa uses his other hand to cup one of Risu’s pecs through his shirt, squeezing enthusiastically. Risu’s nipples are hard, he realizes with a hot rush of embarrassment when the hand underneath his shirt reaches up far enough to thumb over one.

“You like that?” Aikawa asks, speaking close to his ear. The only response Risu can muster is a wordless groan, breathless in quality and pitching up just slightly as Aikawa squeezes again, feeling him up at the same time that he ruts his dick against the base of Risu’s spine. 

Risu can feel Aikawa watching him, can see Aikawa’s hands all over him when he looks down at himself, holding him still and making him go at whatever pace Aikawa wants. He can see its effect on him, too, the way he’s stiff through the soft fabric of his pants without Aikawa even touching him there yet. Risu tilts his head back and groans again, the back of his skull pressed hard against Aikawa’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Aikawa says, warm and approving. He pinches both of Risu’s nipples this time, one through the t-shirt and one underneath, rolling them gently between his thumbs and middle fingers, sometimes using his index fingers to flick back and forth over the trapped tips of them. He keeps this up until Risu’s dick is throbbing, his breath coming out harsh in the quiet air of the room as his hips work up into nothing. 

Eventually, Aikawa must decide that he’s suffered enough. He lets go of Risu’s chest in favor of pushing his sweats down his thighs until Risu can kick them off, wrapping a hand around Risu through the fabric of his boxers once he does. His free hand grips the underside of Risu’s thigh and uses it to hike his legs open further, giving Aikawa more room to work as he palms over Risu’s dick. He’s going so slow, like he hasn’t noticed how desperate Risu is or maybe more like he doesn’t care. 

“Aikawa, c’mon,” Risu forces himself to say, even though he knows his voice will come out weird, breathless and faltering. Aikawa just keeps rubbing him through his underwear, long slow passes of his palm down the length of Risu’s cock, pressing down with the heel of his hand. 

“What’s up?” Aikawa asks instead of answering properly, the picture of innocence even as he pushes his thumb into the wet spot at the front of Risu’s boxers. Risu grits his teeth. It’s frustrating that Aikawa can just keep going like this, in perfect control of the situation while Risu’s brain is melting. 

He forgets to be frustrated, though, when Aikawa’s hand finally slips inside his underwear, curling around Risu’s shaft and pumping him a few times for real, making Risu gasp and shove his hips upward with renewed intensity. This shouldn’t be anything special, but it is somehow, the friction of Aikawa’s hot grip and the methodical way he works Risu over combining into something overwhelming. 

Dizzy, Risu rolls his head to one side until his forehead bumps Aikawa’s neck. He can smell him when they’re up this close; the heavy scent of the weed smoke clings to his clothes, mingling with clean sweat and faint traces of the food stall he usually hits up on the way over to Risu’s place. Risu inhales deeply. 

Aikawa chooses that moment to let go of his thigh, free hand sliding up Risu’s body until it comes to circle around his throat—not choking him, or anything, just holding him there as his strokes go all slow and tight, like he’s trying to wring Risu out. 

Risu goes still, frozen in place as Aikawa tightens his fingers just enough for him to feel it. He’s sure he’d vibrate out of his skin if it weren’t for the hands holding him still, just float up to the ceiling and end up observing all of this from above as an especially horny ghost. He realizes that even a little bit more of this could make him come if he lets himself. For some reason, that thought makes him uneasy, even when he’d been so impatient just a minute ago. 

“Aikawa,” he manages, hyperaware of the way his throat jumps under Aikawa’s fingers when he breathes. “I want—wanna see you when I—”

Aikawa loosens his grip, both on Risu’s dick and his throat, and Risu takes the opportunity to twist around to face him. He comes nose-to-nose with Aikawa’s startled face for a moment before he lurches forward even further, pinning his knees to either side of Aikawa’s hips and messily urging their tongues together. 

Aikawa lets Risu do what he wants for a minute or so, lets Risu press in as close to him as possible and kiss him without any thought at all for finesse. Eventually, he tangles his hands in Risu’s hair and drags his head far enough back to separate their lips.

“Here,” he says, a definite note of amusement in his voice, and reaches down to tug open the zipper of his pants. There’s a brief scuffle in which Aikawa manages to wrestle them down off his hips even with Risu still sticking as close to him as he can the whole time. Risu’s breath comes quicker when Aikawa tugs his briefs down, too—his erection is thick, curving upward, and flushed dark at the tip. Even though it’s been pressed against him for basically this entire time, seeing it like this makes Risu’s mind reel in circles that begin and end with Aikawa lying back underneath him, exposed in Risu’s bed, not seeming to mind all that much that Risu is plastered to him and can’t bring himself to lay off for even a second. 

His head tips forward when Aikawa reaches for him, pulling him in for another kiss and guiding their cocks together again. The weight of their bodies presses them tight up against each other so that each slow shifting movement of Aikawa underneath him curls its way up Risu’s spine and spreads out through his mind like smoke. He shoves his hips down, too distracted to be embarrassed by the soft sounds forcing their way out of his throat at every drag of Aikawa’s hot skin against the underside of his cock, rough friction slowly turning to a sticky-wet slide as moisture spreads from where they’re leaking against each other. 

Rather than continuing to brace himself against the headboard, Risu lets himself slump forward against Aikawa’s chest, pressing his face to the spot where Aikawa’s pulse jumps in his neck and breathing there harshly. He feels Aikawa spit into his palm more than he sees it, and then Aikawa has them both in his hand, stroking them both at once as they rut against each other unsteadily. 

Aikawa speeds up once he gets a good grip on them, his free hand gripping Risu’s shoulder. Risu is making noise almost continuously now, dumb little gasps and half-formed attempts at words that he hopes Aikawa’s skin does an okay job of muffling. The pressure of release builds up inside him as Aikawa strokes them both, trapping Risu’s cock between the hot pressure of his own shaft and the tight circle of his fist. The hand on Risu’s shoulder eases its grip and roams across his upper body, palming roughly over his nipples again, sliding around to cup the back of his neck. Risu’s breath is coming so fast now that he sounds panicked, even to his own ears. 

“It’s okay,” Aikawa tells him, even as he coaxes another drop of clear slickness from Risu’s tip and spreads it down his shaft, massaging underneath the head with his thumb until Risu’s cock twitches hard in his hand. The pressure inside mounts higher and higher, until Aikawa gives him one last stroke, slow and worshipful, and Risu tips over the edge.

He curls in on himself when he comes, spasming in Aikawa’s grip and sinking his teeth into Aikawa’s neck as he whimpers in the back of his throat. He can tell it hurts from Aikawa’s sharp intake of breath when Risu bites him and the faint taste of iron on his tongue when he finally lets go. 

Angry pink teeth imprints stand out against Aikawa’s skin when Risu leans back to assess the damage, one small puncture point sluggishly leaking a trickle of blood. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly, leaning forward on instinct to clean the blood up with his tongue before it occurs to him how weird that probably is. If Aikawa thinks so, he doesn’t say anything about it; one of his hands finds the back of Risu’s head, not pulling him down but just holding him there, smoothing absently through his hair. 

“No big deal,” he says. Risu would protest, but he gets distracted pretty quickly by pawing at Aikawa’s chest, wanting to see more of his body, wanting his pants further down his thighs. 

“Hey,” he says, “let me, can I,” and Aikawa’s hand falls away from Risu’s now-soft cock and his own erection, flagging in the interim but still half-hard. Risu can’t take his eyes off it, unless it’s to put his eyes on some other part of Aikawa. Even more so than usual, Risu feels like Aikawa is a black hole he’s trying to elbow his way into the center of, absorbing every last speck of his attention.

“You wanna suck it?” Aikawa asks. It’s a testament to his adventurous nature how excited he sounds by that prospect, even while actively bleeding as a result of Risu’s teeth. 

Risu nods and scoots himself further down the bed. He pulls Aikawa’s pants and briefs down as he goes, past the bends of his knees and down his shins until they’re off completely and Risu can dump them over the side of the bed. 

He pushes Aikawa’s shirt up towards his chin, too, just for good measure, and then maneuvers himself until he’s in between Aikawa’s spread legs. They’re thick and muscular, dusted all over with dark hair. Aikawa’s cock sits at about Risu’s eye level, now, and he studies it with a single-minded determination that Aikawa would probably laugh at if the atmosphere was a little different. He’s fully hard again when Risu circles a hand around the base to steady it and ducks in close, nuzzling forward until its weight presses against his cheek. If this is his only opportunity to do something like this, there’s no sense not making the most of it. 

Risu does his best to push self-consciousness to the back of his mind as he finally gets his mouth on Aikawa’s dick, kissing up the length of it, letting a thin string of spit run down his chin and onto Aikawa’s shaft when his mouth starts watering. He kisses Aikawa’s tip and Aikawa grabs his hair, not using it to hold him down but just stroking through it, rough passes over Risu’s scalp that make him shiver. He’s glad he came before he got a chance to do this because he’s sure that if he didn’t he’d be humping the bed right now. 

Aikawa’s taste floods his tongue as he presses it into the tip, where precome is drooling out; it’s warm, like his blood, but more viscous. There’s more of it, too, mixing with Risu’s saliva until it floods out and drips down his chin. He probably looks disgusting. Aikawa’s body goes tense as Risu drags Aikawa’s dick through the wetness gathering in his mouth, letting it bump the inside of his cheek. He has no idea what he’s doing—hopefully, his surplus of enthusiasm will make up for that at least somewhat. 

He tucks his lips carefully over his teeth and sucks with his eyes deliberately lowered until the world goes hazy around him and his jaw starts to ache. The hand not on Aikawa’s cock grips high up on one of his spread thighs for leverage, fingers sticking to the skin there as it gets tacky with sweat. Above him, Aikawa is mostly quiet, but Risu can tell he’s getting into it from the way his muscles tense and relax under Risu’s hands and the restless way his hands move on Risu’s head, cupping the back of his neck and stroking roughly behind his ears until Risu starts to feel like he might end up humping the bed after all. 

“Risu,” Aikawa chokes out, lower lip caught between his teeth, eyes narrowed down almost to nothing. He’s trying to pull Risu off of him, Risu realizes after a second. “Here, don’t—”

Risu just shakes his head, refusing to let himself be guided away. Instead, he holds on tighter, stretches his mouth open and forces Aikawa down his throat just further than is comfortable. Aikawa can’t stay still at all anymore, movements becoming more frantic as he rocks up into the heat of Risu’s mouth, chasing after it when Risu pulls off and starts stroking him with his hand instead. Risu’s palm glides against him easily as he jerks him fast and hard, eyes glued to the way Aikawa’s chest heaves with each heavy uncontrolled breath he exhales into the space between them. 

“Risu,” Aikawa says again, this time sounding almost pleading, like he doesn’t want to make a mess of him. Risu’s head feels fuzzy when he thinks about it; he ruts his soft cock once against the mattress and shudders. 

“You can,” he mumbles, hand speeding up unconsciously as he leans in close enough for Aikawa’s cock to nudge his cheek again, this time leaving a sticky trail. “Right here. I want it.”

“Wow,” Aikawa says, mostly breath. “Yeah?”

Risu nods, feeling obscene as the movement drags Aikawa’s cock up and down the curve of his cheek. The wet slickness rapidly cools off in the air of the room, quickly replaced as Risu guides Aikawa’s dick in another messy arc over the skin. As Risu turns his head blindly to kiss at the shaft, the smooth ridge of a vein slides against his tongue. 

Aikawa swears, tensing up all over, and that’s all the warning Risu gets before he comes in a warm pulsing rush. 

An arc of it lands on Risu’s cheek, splattering across the bridge of his nose, his closed eyelid, his mouth. He swallows what he can without really thinking about it and pushes his hips down into the bed even though it’s still too soon, just for the heavy overstimulating pressure of it.

A second later, Aikawa’s thumb passes gently over the delicate skin of Risu’s eyelid, wiping until it’s clean enough for Risu to open up. Aikawa fills his vision when he does, bending forward to study Risu intently as his thumb continues to glide through the mess he’s made, sweeping underneath Risu’s eyes, pausing briefly at the bottom edges of both his tattoos. 

“You good?” he asks, and Risu nods. The self-consciousness is already starting to creep back in, but for now, he just sits and lets himself be touched, thinking hard about each movement of Aikawa’s fingers on his skin. He thinks he might be starting to come down, too—things feel weird, still, but less surreal than they had before. 

Aikawa breaks the silence again a minute or so later, once he’s finished dabbing at Risu’s face with a corner of his abandoned t-shirt. “So,” he says, drawing out the syllable, in the voice he uses when he’s about to say something that will make Risu punch him in the arm. “You were really getting into it, huh? You think maybe next time we could—ow!”

True to form, Risu’s socked him. He’s torn between annoyance at getting called out like that, relief that Aikawa is still acting normal, and a minor heart attack at the thought of a next time. Instead of voicing any of that, he just scowls. 

“Okay, okay,” Aikawa says, lifting his hips off the bed to yank his underwear back up. He leaves his pants where they are. “Wanna smoke the rest of this? There’s still a little bit left.”

Risu pauses to consider, the expanse of a whole evening together stretching out in his mind; the snacks they could eat, the bad TV they could watch, the possibility of _next time_ coming more quickly than he’d initially assumed. Even if it doesn’t happen today, they could take a nap, or something—if Aikawa’s not getting good sleep on his own, Risu can corner him into it. 

“Sure,” he says, keeping his face turned away from Aikawa as he starts to hunt around on the bed for his own underwear. “I’m tired, though, so maybe you could just shotgun it for me.” He does his best to sound bored, like he doesn’t care much either way. 

He doesn’t do a great job, if the way Aikawa laughs and yanks him closer by the back of his shirt is any indication, but Risu finds that he doesn’t really mind that much.

**Author's Note:**

> ty for reading! and happy new year [!!!!!](https://twitter.com/spectrologist)


End file.
